


Cherry Pie

by atari_writes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Smut, female receiving, lil angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12110502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atari_writes/pseuds/atari_writes
Summary: Baking and Oral Sex with Dean





	Cherry Pie

The smell of baking pie sits heavy on the air, growing stronger with each pie you pull from the oven. You slide the hot tin onto the table, and stare at the collection of pies and cookies you’ve baked over the last four hours. So far you had two apple and one pecan pie, a dozen chocolate chip cookies and a dozen of your own personal shortbread recipe. 

Not enough, was all you could think. The stress of your argument with Dean was still weighing on your shoulders. Cherry was Dean’s favorite, was the next thought. You eyed the bowl of fresh cherries you’d pitted and washed when you’d first started baking. When you’d rolled out of the bed this morning, you’d been disoriented until you realized you were in your old bedroom, without Dean. Then you’d remembered the argument from the previous night. Which was why you’d started baking at six this morning when you usually found yourself sleeping in Dean’s warm arms until noon. 

You re-cross your arms and narrow your eyes at the cherries. Baking had always been cathartic for you, and you thought a cherry pie would make Dean feel better as well. But this morning, the argument still fresh in your mind, you’d barely gotten past preparing the cherries before you all but threw them onto the table, and moved on to cookies instead. 

People always said not to go to bed angry, and this morning you’d felt why. The guilt of fighting with Dean and leaving him alone was starting to eat at you. You knew he’d only yelled at you because he was worried. The hunt they’d been on hadn’t gone very well, and even though you knew that Dean understood he couldn’t save everyone, you also knew he took every failure to heart, and let it fester and fuel his self-hatred. 

With a resigned sigh, you grab the bowl of prepared cherries and move back to the counter. You set them aside and grab the pie dough you’d already made and portioned out. You slam it on the counter and start to knead it, using it to work out the residual stress you were feeling at Dean’s god complex. Making Dean’s favorite would help bridge the gap the fight had caused, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still mad at him.

Your slamming and kneading masks the sound of soft footsteps, and you don’t notice Dean leaning against the door to the kitchen, watching you, until he speaks. “Still mad at me?”

You stop kneading and stare at your dough. “No,” you lie. You start to roll out the pie dough, your movements still jerky and rough. Bare feet on the tile behind you are the only warning you get before a hand closes around your wrist, stopping your hurried movements.

“Y/N, please,” his voice is quiet and still rough with sleep. 

You turn your head towards him, but refuse to meet his eyes. Instead you focus on the curve of his strong, tan forearm and the length of his fingers, wrapped around your wrist. 

“Please,” he sounds strained, and he clears his throat, trying to hide the crack in his voice. 

You press your lips together, finally looking up from his hand to take in his threadbare t-shirt, then up to his drooping features and messy hair. Your breath catches at the red rim of his eyes, and the downward tilt of his mouth. Guilt floods you, weighing hard on your shoulders. You knew Dean had nightmares almost nightly, and they were always worse after a hunt. How could you leave him alone last night, when you knew he’d taken it especially hard?

You barely felt the tear slip down your face, but his hand catches your attention, moving up from your wrist to wipe your cheek. “Hey, baby. Stop that.” 

Your eyes slip off his face, and you shake your head, twisting your mouth and biting your lip to keep more tears from falling. His fingers slide down to cup your chin, tilting your face back up.

“Look at me, baby.” You sniff and obey, taking in his own watery eyes. “Please don’t cry,” he pleads.

You shrug and shake your head. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he dips his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’m the one that should be sorry.” He clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and it shouldn’t have taken me so damn long to apologize.”

You laugh a little at that. “You do have just a bit of a stubborn streak…”

He huffs a laugh. “Just a bit.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t with you last night. It looked like it was…rough.” You wince.

Dean shrugs. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You almost roll your eyes. You don’t know what you were expecting; Dean would never admit to having a hard time. You’re about to insist that you discuss it, but he changes the subject.

“What are you making?” He nods down at your flour covered hands and limp dough.

“Cherry pie.” You go back to rolling out the dough, and can’t fight the smile when Dean hums and moves behind you. 

“Goddamn baby, you know your way back into a man’s heart.” The rumble of his voice at your ear sends shivers down your spine. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean. He rests his chin on your shoulder and puts his hands on the counter on either side of you. “I did miss you last night, baby.” He sucks a wet kiss onto your neck, making your eyelids flutter and your hands stutter. He kisses the light bruise he’s just created. “I didn’t have anyone to fuck.” You can feel his grin on your skin, and you gasp and jab an elbow back into his ribs. 

“Oh my God, Dean!” He laughs, and you shove him back off of you. “You’re awful,” you mutter, rolling your dough back out again, this time getting so far as to line the tin with it before he was back on you, his hands under your shirt and his lips back on your neck. 

“Let’s go back to bed, baby.” His voice is gravelly and his hands are insistent, his fingers pushing up your shirt.

“I thought you wanted pie?”

He kisses your jaw, then pauses. With a grunt and one last kiss, he relents. “Can I help?”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Sure…” you were a little suspicious that he gave in so easy, but cherry was his favorite…

You push the bowl of cherries towards him. “Put those in a saucepan and turn on the stove.”

He gives you a mock salute and a kiss on his way past you. You smile and shake your head, then go to the pantry to grab the ingredients for the cherry filling. You go to take over from him, but he stops you.

“Tell me how.”

You stare at him for a second, and you feel a wave of arousal. Totally inappropriate, almost completely unfounded. But with a quick glance at his disheveled hair and bare feet, spoon and saucepan in hand, you thought Dean being domestic was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You clear your throat. “Um, yeah. Sure.”

You catch Dean’s knowing grin out of the corner of your eye, but choose to ignore it. You walk him through the heating and mixing of the cherry filling, working mostly on autopilot. Dean was doing well, and that was worse for your composition. You left him to finish stirring while you set the pie dough firmly in the tin, and to take a minute to compose yourself.

Dean comes up behind you before you know it, offering the saucepan to you with a kiss on your cheek. “Look good, babe?” You hear the slight pride in his voice, and you can’t stop the splitting smile on your face. Everything was so much more fun with him, you muse to yourself.

You glance at the cherry mixture, then kiss his cheek and hold out the tin for him to pour the filling. “It’s perfect.”

He tries—and fails—to hold back his smirk. “Everything I do is perfect, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, then roll the rest of the dough over the top of the pie. You trim the edges and pinch the layers of dough together to keep the pie from splitting open in the oven. 

“Hand me that container.” You point to the small Tupperware, holding your hand out for it as Dean grabs and examines it. 

“What is this?” He opens the lid and sniffs.

You laugh and pry it from his hand. “Cinnamon and sugar. It goes on top of the pie.” You take a handful out and lightly sprinkle the mixture on top of the sticky pie crust.

“Why?”

You gently push him out of the way and slide the pie into the oven. “I dunno. It tastes good. That’s what my grandma always did. It looks pretty.” You laugh at his raised eyebrow and shrug. “Pick a reason.”

He shakes his head, then comes up behind you. “How long does it take to bake?” He asks over your shoulder. 

You shrug. “Fifteen to twenty minutes, give or take.”

Dean’s hands close on your hips and jerk you back into his chest. “Perfect,” he almost growls in your ear. 

Before you can protest, he has you spun around and shoved back into the fridge, his thigh wedged between your legs. Your hands fly up to his shoulders for balance, nails digging into his shirt.

“Dean, what the hell—“ He cuts you off with a forceful kiss, his tongue parting your lips. You resist his sudden behavior for a moment, but the flex and push of his thigh against your core has you whimpering and melting into his touch. 

He pulls off for a breath, eyes searching your face for something. You lick your lips and let your eyes fall shut, your head resting against the fridge behind you. “Shit, Dean.”

He huffs a laugh, then goes back in to attack your neck. You hum at the feeling of his lips and tongue tracing their way down from your jaw to the skin exposed by the open collar of your shirt. Your hands tug on the back of Dean’s shirt, suddenly needing to feel his hot skin against yours. “Dean, please—“

He breaks away from your skin just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, then he’s back on your neck. “Say my name again,” he growls against the skin under your chin.

“Dean, I need you,” you gasp out, scratching your nails against the skin of his back.

Your breath catches when you feel the scrape of his teeth on your skin, and barely have time to catch your breath before he’s gone, moving down to his knees in front of you. He looks up at you as he pushes your shirt up to expose your underwear. He maintains eye contact, smirking when you gasp at the cool feeling of his lips on the skin just above your underwear. He hooks his fingers in the waistband, and pulls your panties down slowly, kissing at the skin he reveals. 

“I’m gonna need you to do something for me, sweetheart.” His voice is low, lust filled as he takes in your naked skin. 

You hum and run your fingers through his hair, barely coherent enough to ask, “What’s that?’

His fingers run down your left leg, pulling it up and over his shoulder. His breath is hot against your core when he says, “Scream for me.”

You don’t even have a chance to catch your breath before his tongue is between your folds, licking teasing stripes up and down. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, tightening your grip on his hair and pulling him closer into you. 

His tongue spends some time just exploring, flattening its way from your hole to your clit, just barely circling you there, then going back down to explore your entrance. His tongue pushes inside as far as he can get it, circling and stretching, and he lets his nose brush against your clit. 

You gasp and dig your heel into his back while you pull at his hair with your fingers. “More, Dean, I need more. Please,” you beg, subconsciously bucking your hips into his face, desperate for more friction. You feel his smirk and the vibration of his laugh. His licks his way back up to your clit, sucking it back into his mouth. He pulls away slowly, and you meet his eyes as a low moan leaves your mouth.

He smirks again and presses a chaste kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You taste so good, baby.” He runs his fingers up your right leg, lingering on the soft skin of your inner thigh. He licks at your clit once before letting his rough thumb catch it on his way down. Your hips jerk towards him, desperate for him. 

“You want my fingers, baby girl?” He asks against the skin of your thigh. 

You nod frantically, feeling the movements of his fingers running against your lips, slowly making their way inside.

He kisses your leg again. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

You huff and yank on his hair. “Please, Dean. Put your fingers inside me.”

He laughs and licks at your clit again, covering it with several swipes of his flat tongue. “Fuck,” you exhale, clenching around nothing, mentally willing his fingers to move.

He finally takes pity on you, and pushes two of his fingers deep inside of you while he continues to flick his tongue against your clit.

“Fuck, Dean!” 

He moans against your skin, and everything clenches against the feeling. He slowly drags his fingers out of you, then pushes them roughly back in, curling them at the last second. You let out a low moan at the feeling of his fingers, digging and moving around inside of you, searching for your g-spot. 

One of his fingers catches the edge of the rough spot inside of you, and you let out a surprised sound at the feeling, and Dean immediately adjusts to hit just there with every thrust of his fingers. You tighten around him, your fingers flexing in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer into you. He picks up on the signals, quickening his tongue on your clit with the tip of his tongue.

You start to moan in earnest now, letting out a strained whimper with every quickening thrust of his fingers inside of you. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, Dean—“

He hums, breaking off for a second to remind you, “Scream for me, baby girl.”

You feel it building, and your breaths start to come shorter, catching with each feeling of pleasure from Dean. You start to let out small, incoherent noises, broken up by desperate gasps of Dean’s name. Your noises slowly start to grow louder, longer, more desperate. Dean redoubles his efforts, flicking his tongue faster and curling his fingers tighter with every thrust.

You let your head fall back and your eyes squeeze shut. “Dean, I’m—fuck, Dean!” You scream his name as you come, every muscle in your body clenching hard against the pleasure coursing through you.

You come down hard, feeling the exhaustion weigh heavy on you. You barely notice Dean pulling his fingers from you and resting your leg back on the ground. You hum when Dean cups your face with a hand and captures your lips in a gentle kiss. 

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, baby girl,” he mutters against your lips. 

Your eyes flutter open, and you smile at the intense look in his green eyes. You’ve never felt so beautiful as when Dean’s looking at you. “I love you, Dean.”

His lips tilt upwards, and he takes the two fingers that were just inside of you into his mouth, sucking your slick from his skin. You inhale sharply at the feeling of arousal sparking in your gut, fueled by the small moans he was making. 

He pulls them out of his mouth with a pop, then sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. “I love you too,” he mutters against your mouth. “Love the way you taste, too. You’re always so fucking hot, baby girl.”

You hum and reach for his boxers, ready for him to take you right here in the kitchen, when you smell something. You look around in confusion. “What’s that—“ you gasp and push Dean away from you. “The pie!”

With no regard for your state of undress in the very public kitchen, you grab two kitchen towels and pull the pie out of the oven. You slide it onto the stove and sigh. “Thank god.” Dean comes up behind you. “Just done,” you say, turning to him with a proud smile on your face. 

He smiles and shakes his head. “We were in the middle of something,” he reminds you, cupping your bare ass in his hands.

“But the pie—“

“Fuck the pie,” he growls, then bends and throws you over his shoulder.

You shriek at the sudden movement, but giggle when you realize what he said. “I bet you’d like to fuck a cherry pie.”

He stalks off toward your shared room, smacking your ass. “That’s a disgusting thing to say, baby.”

You hum and grab at Dean’s ass. “Maybe, but it’s true.”

He doesn’t answer, just grunts and throws you down on the bed. “Forget about the pie.”

You scoot up on the bed and spread your legs for him. “But can you forget about it?” you tease, but Dean just rolls his eyes and pounces on you.


End file.
